


An Irrevocable Condition

by Sincestiel



Series: Tumblr Prompts [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: When Sam doesn’t even bother to gloat at Dean admitting that he’s right, he knows it’s worse than Sam’s letting on.  Whatever happened in that basement, whatever she did to him, runs so much deeper than the surface wounds Cas healed so easily.  And so this is Dean’s department.  He’s just glad that, for once, there’s nothing for which he needs to atone.  He didn’t do the hurting this time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> “Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”  
> ― James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room 
> 
> Written for the prompt: wincest + h/c after dean rescued sam in 12.02

“So, wow. Mom, huh?” Sam says, lingering around the doorway of Dean’s room like he’s not sure, with the recent change in residents, that he’s still allowed to come in.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “wow’s right. Are you coming in? Or are you just going to stand in the doorway? Because I need to change.” He’s already pulling his shirt off over his head when Sam finally steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“I, uh,” Sam says, low and glancing back over his shoulder like Mom’s just going to pop up out of nowhere. “I didn’t know if you’d want… I mean, we have to be careful now, right?”

They’ve always had to be careful, Dean wants to say. But it hasn’t really always been like it is now. Before the bunker, they sometimes found their way into each other’s beds. Mostly just seeking comfort and finding it in probably the very worst place. The night before Sam left for Stanford was the beginning. And the night Dean went back for him. The week before Dean went to hell and the week after he came back. Right after they lost Ellen and Jo. And Bobby. Until they moved in and settled down here, Dean could mark his relationship with his brother so easily by hardships and losses. Every illicit kiss, every breath stolen from Sammy’s mouth, every swipe of his tongue over Sam’s skin, had been pain and heartache.

Now though… Now they’re older and wiser. It’s still not _right_ , it’s still not _okay_ by anyone else’s standards. But it’s who they are. They’ve carved their names into each other’s hearts with love and devotion the likes of which most people never experience. And when Dean finally got a bed to call his own, he started coaxing Sam into it for nothing more than pleasure and found Sam often doing the same for him. They don’t always share. And they’re not exclusive in any really sense (though Dean can’t remember the last time either of them slept with someone else – a year ago? The waitress Sam banged in the back seat? Yeah. Probably.) But they wander into each other’s rooms often enough that Dean can smell Sammy all over the extra pillow on his bed and he knows traces of him linger in Sam’s bed as well. And it’s been good. So goddamn good. 

But now they’re on shaky ground again. And at the worst time, it would seem. Because, while Sam’s wounds have all been healed, Dean can see the pain in his eyes. He knows Sam needs their own special brand of medicine. He needs to be held and kissed and reminded that he is loved and needed. He needs Dean’s hands and mouth writing praise and adoration all over his flesh. But the walls have ears now. Their safe haven has been invaded and as much as Dean’s overjoyed to have her back, he’s mourning the loss of this little taste of domesticity he and Sam have cultivated here.

Sam’s still standing awkwardly just inside the door, rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing around like he’s out of place here. Like maybe he doesn’t belong anymore and the thought that Sam might not know that he still fits into Dean’s private sanctuary, that Dean still _wants_ him here, has Dean covering the distance between them in mere seconds.

Dean pulls his brother into a hug, even giving in and reaching up to wrap his arms around Sam’s neck just how Sam likes. The position stretches Dean’s body as he has to lift up on his tiptoes. It so easily reminds both of them that Sam is the bigger brother now, if not the oldest. Dean knows that having Dean cling to him like this is one of Sam’s favorite things. And he figures that, even if he grumbles and groans about it, Sam knows it’s one of Dean’s favorite things too. He doesn’t indulge often, but the little shivery moan Sam releases is well worth the bit of dignity Dean loses.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, turning his head to trace his nose gently along the base of Sam’s throat, “but when have we not had to be careful? Even here we’ve sometimes had to be mindful of Kevin and Charlie. Cas.”

Sam snorts and turns his own face into the side of Dean’s head, kissing his temple as his arms lift to wrap around Dean’s waist and pull him closer. “I don’t think we hid anything from any of them. Especially Cas.”

“You’re probably right,” Dean agrees and the implication that they likely won’t be able to hide this from their mother either, at least not for very long, hangs heavy between them. Still, it’s not enough to make Dean let go. If the thought of John finding out didn’t stop him, this certainly won’t. She’ll accept it or she won’t. Either way, Dean’s not giving this up.

When Sam doesn’t even bother to gloat at Dean admitting that he’s right, he knows it’s worse than Sam’s letting on. Whatever happened in that basement, whatever she did to him, runs so much deeper than the surface wounds Cas healed so easily. And so this is Dean’s department. He’s just glad that, for once, there’s nothing for which he needs to atone. He didn’t do the hurting this time.

“Come on,” Dean urges, pulling back and reaching down to start unbuttoning Sam’s shirt, “let’s get you in the bed.”

Sam doesn’t even argue with him. He lets Dean open the front of his shirt and slide it off his arms. He allows his pants to be unfastened and pushed down. And then he sits on the edge of the bed and lets Dean tug his undershirt off over his head. He reaches for Dean’s jeans then and gets them open.

They crawl into Dean’s bed dressed in nothing but their boxers. Typically Dean prefers to sleep in at least a t-shirt. The years of motel life and never knowing when he’d need to bail in the middle of the night have ingrained certain behaviors too deeply for him to just leave them behind. But Sam needs skin to skin contact now. Dean doesn’t know if that’s going to end in anything other than some cuddling – loathe as he is to use that descriptor – but it doesn’t really matter. Whatever Sammy needs, Dean will provide. Just like he always does.

Reclining against the headboard, Dean holds his arms open and Sam easily slots himself against Dean’s side. His head rests over the center of Dean’s chest. Sam works one long arm in behind Dean’s back and the other over his stomach. Dean wraps Sam in a loose embrace, his right hand clutching gently at Sam’s bicep and the left running up over Sam’s shoulder to tangle in his hair.

For what seems like forever, Sam just lies there, ear pressed over Dean’s heart, breath blowing teasingly over a nipple. But, by some miracle, Dean manages not to pop wood. That probably has a lot to do with the way Sam’s exhales come out slightly shaky from time to time. Like he’s fighting so hard not to cry but he’s probably not going to be able to hold out much longer. Still though, Dean waits for Sam to say something. He’s just contemplating reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp when it finally happens.

“She was in my head,” Sam says softly and Dean freezes, doesn’t even breathe for so long Sam pokes him in the ribs to shock him into it. He inhales sharply and realizes his hand has tightened to what has to be an uncomfortable grip on Sam’s arm. He makes himself relax by imagining all the ways he can torture the bitch before he fucking kills her.

 

“Dean?” Sam says, tentatively, starting to pull away from Dean’s chest. But Dean just grips him tighter, starting up a massaging motion over Sam’s scalp. He hopes it’s calming because he feels anything but just then.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean offers, though it most certainly is _not_ okay. Not even a little bit. So many times in Sam’s life he’s been manipulated. Both by forces inside and outside of his own goddamn head. And Dean knows he’s not innocent. Not by a long shot. But at least his mistakes were made with good intentions. She wanted to destroy him and she tried to do it from inside his head. She’s going to pay. And dearly. “Just… uh… how? What happened?”

Sam relaxes incrementally, like he doesn’t really trust Dean not to get up and barge out the door on a mission to find her and disembowel her. Honestly? It’s a legitimate concern. So Dean continues with his scalp massage and wills his grip on Sam’s arm to loosen. Sam knows him well enough to know that he isn’t nearly as calm as he’s attempting to appear, but he also probably knows that Dean’s need to take care of him will override his desire to watch her blood stain his hands. At least for now.

“She gave me something. I’m not sure what. Maybe she told me, but it’s all kind of hazy. Well, all of it except the mind stuff. We were… in a bed and I’m pretty sure we were both naked. Maybe I was supposed to think we’d had sex? Or that we were going to? I don’t even know if she was fully aware of how it was manifesting. But I just kept thinking it wasn’t right. Even when I was feeding her the information she wanted, I kept thinking there was something missing.”

“Me?” Dean asks, and he hears how hopeful he sounds. It’s not jealousy, not really. More a burning urge to know that he saved Sam even when he wasn’t actually there to do it.

“You.” Sam confirms, briefly tightening his hold around Dean’s waist in a hug. “It’s been so long since there was anyone else-”

“The waitress,” Dean cuts in, not even really sure why. Hadn’t he earlier almost forgotten her too? But still. There are others sometimes. They’ve never made this anything… permanent? There’s no commitment between them, Dean thinks and then stops short. Because there _is_. There’s more loyalty and commitment between them than Dean could ever hope to find with anyone else. Maybe even more than most married couples.

“Yeah, but that was just…”

“Not this.” Because Dean doesn’t really need it explained. He leans over to press a kiss into the top of Sam’s head. Just like he used to when Sam was a kid and there wasn’t nearly as much promise behind their every touch. But not as much dedication either, so it’s a fair trade, he thinks. Innocence for devotion.

“Not this. It just felt wrong to be in a bed with someone else. And that kept bringing me up short every time I tried to sink into the illusion the drug created.”

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean says, voice cracking just a little because he knows how much this must be weighing on his little brother. And then, because he wants to make it perfectly clear that they’re still _this_ to each other, whatever it is, he slides his hand up Sam’s arm and hooks a finger under his chin. Once he has Sam’s head tilted up, he sees that his eyes are watery and red and he’s so close to losing it. But that’s okay too. And he doesn’t comment. Instead, he brings their mouths together, softly and slowly opening Sam’s lips with his tongue. He runs the muscle over the roof of Sam’s mouth before curling it against Sam’s and the sound Sam makes is a broken whimper. Dean feels the wetness against his own cheeks as he rearranges them, pushing Sam back into the pillows without breaking their kiss. The tears are Sam’s, Dean’s pretty sure, and once he’s got Sam settled, he moves his mouth to each side of Sam’s face. His tears are salty and already drying, but Dean kisses away as much of the liquid as he can.

And then he works his way down, using his open palm just under Sam’s chin to tilt his head back and lengthen Sam’s neck. His fingertips brush gently at that soft space just behind Sam’s ear and Sam twists his head into the pressure as Dean’s teeth scrape over his Adam’s apple. Sam’s panting already, his lower body squirming and when Dean lets his eyes roam down that gorgeous body, he sees Sam’s boxers pulled tight over his growing erection.

He didn’t mean for this to be sexual. He didn’t think Sam would really be on board for that, not with their mom just a few rooms away. But when he lets his free hand drift lower, nails scratching tenderly at the trail of hair in the center of that well defined v, Sam shivers and pushes his hips up.

“Dean? Please?” Sam whispers, and then, “I can be quiet, promise.” It’s so reminiscent of that night before Sam left for Stanford. His pulse kicks up a notch and his stomach does that same wild flip it did back then. Maybe not as violently, because this isn’t the first time Sam’s ever begged him with lust dripping so openly from his plea, but that little thrill that they might get caught is certainly making it more exciting. And there’s also that edge of desperation they felt that night.

Dean nods and turns his head from where he’s sucking at Sam’s collarbone and swipes his tongue over Sam’s pert nipple just before he clamps down with his teeth. He doesn’t bite hard, but it’s definitely more pressure than he’d use with a woman. Sam arches so pretty for him and a loud gasp falls from his mouth. Just what Dean was aiming for.

Dean trails his pointed tongue from one nipple to the other, delighting when Sam bites at the back of his hand to keep from moaning. He worships the little bud with tongue and teeth and suction hard enough to leave it puffy and red. But he abandons the task and starts nibbling his way down when the whimpers coming from Sam start to sound urgent.

Sam’s thighs are flexing, thrusting his pelvis up and down as Dean moves low enough to dip his tongue into Sam’s navel. He can see the wet spot on the front of Sam’s boxers and his mouth waters suddenly. God. How long’s it been since he just sucked Sam off? Nothing else. Just that. Sam filling his mouth, pressing into his throat. Sam’s hands in his hair and only the goal of getting Sam off to worry about. His own release an afterthought. Months probably. Maybe even longer. Too long.

Dean rearranges himself quickly and efficiently. He carefully lifts Sam’s boxer up and over his erection, biting his lip when it slaps lightly against Sam’s hard lower abdomen. And then, once the offending material has been pulled completely from Sam’s body – leaving him gloriously naked and spread in the middle of Dean’s bed, just the way Dean likes it – he situates himself between Sam’s legs.

“You don’t have to-” Sam starts, reaching down in an attempt to guide Dean up. Sam’s always been a little weird about this, feels like the pleasure should be mutual. But what he doesn’t understand is that it _is_. Dean has always enjoyed taking care of Sam. It’s felt like a huge responsibility, sure, but never a burden. And this is the same for him. It just feels like an extension of that responsibility. 

“Want to,” Dean says with a shrug, leaning over to lick across the head of Sam’s cock. It’s salty and bitter, the bead of precome he collects on his tongue. It’s delicious and he’s on the verge of swallowing Sam down when Sam stops him, cupping his own hand around his dick like a blockade. Dean whines and then instantly feels his face heat because wow, that was needy.

“Then turn around and let me blow you too.”

Dean wants to argue. Looks up to do just that even though he knows he’s still blushing. But Sam’s looking down at him all earnest and pleading. Dean never has been able to say no to that face.

“You sure?” Dean asks, because he’s really perfectly fine with getting Sam off just like this.

Sam nods and then, voice slightly raw and cracked, “I need to feel close to you.”

Any other time… Dean’s made fun of Sam for less. And if it were a spell or some kind of curse making Sam say it, Dean would never let him live it down. But this? Sam feeling insecure about their relationship because of Mary’s presence and the thing with the Brits. Dean just nods. He understands. And he’ll give Sam whatever he needs.

His own boxers join Sam’s on the floor and they end up curled on their sides. Sam’s dick just inches from his face and his own hovering against Sam’s lips. Dean feels his cock throb when Sam breathes over the wet tip. And he shudders when Sam speaks.

“Remember the first time we did this?”

Dean smiles and presses an open mouthed kiss to the underside of Sam’s hard length. “Yeah,” he whispers over the quivering flesh. How could he ever forget?

It’d been right after Sam had left Stanford to join Dean again. They’d just been finding their footing in the relationship that was developing between them, having only one heated night before Sam left to build on. Sam had never given anyone head before and Dean had suggested this position so that he could teach Sam how to do it.

“Just like that,” Sam says, copying the kiss Dean just laid over his dick.

Dean grins and then, testing the waters, swirls his tongue around Sam’s cockhead, just under the rim. Sam returns the gesture and Dean shivers. God yes.

They work together, Sam always just one step behind. Dean alternates between long, deep sucks and little kitten licks and Sam repeats every action, almost matching him moan for moan. He does some things he likes and some that are solely for Sam’s benefit, and eventually, they’re gripping each other’s thighs and bobbing hard and fast.

He’s got the sweetest ache in his jaw by the time he feels his own orgasm blooming in the pit of his stomach and at the base of his spine. When his balls draw up and his legs stretch out, toes curling and then flexing, he just lets go. He sets exactly the pace with just the right amount of pressure on Sam’s dick to get himself off. He comes hard and fast, emptying with several long pulses into Sam’s mouth and feeling Sam swallow around him. His own muffled groan is lost in the slide of Sam’s cock over his tongue and down his throat.

He doesn’t even fully ride out the aftershocks. The second he slips out from between Sam’s lips, he pushes Sam onto his back and leans over him. And then it’s all about Sam. He reaches out blindly to find a hand and guides it to the back of his head, giving Sam permission to set the pace. Except that’s not what Sam does at all.

His fingers dance lightly over Dean’s scalp, card softly through his hair, and trace so tenderly down his jawline. And over and over again, Sam whispers Dean’s name. Like feeling him and seeing him isn’t enough. Like he needs a constant verbal reminder that Dean is the one touching him. Sucking him. Bringing him to orgasm.

Sam comes with a bitten off whine and his fingers tight in the hair sticking up over the top of Dean’s head. His hips stutter up and he floods Dean’s mouth with the not exactly pleasant chlorine taste of his come. And Dean lets every drop slide down his throat, still nursing gently at Sam’s softening cock moments later.

When Sam finally nudges him off, Dean just stretches out where he is, resting his head on Sam’s hipbone as his feet dangle off the side of the bed. He looks up Sam’s long, muscled body and meets his brother’s eyes. They’re damp and red rimmed like maybe he was, at some point, crying. But they’re also a little clearer. Not as pained as they were when he first stepped through the doorway.

After several minutes of Dean just staring at him, admiring his beauty, honestly, though Dean would never admit to something like that out loud, Sam finally smiles. It’s just a little tug at the corner of his mouth, but it’s there. Dean tilts his head enough to kiss the jut of Sam’s hipbone and then settles in again, splaying one hand possessively over Sam’s stomach while he stretches his other arm out to trail his fingers up and down Sam’s calf behind him.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, and then, “Do you need to talk?” Dean’s not big on talking about shit like this. But he does it when Sam needs it.

Sam bites his lip and shakes his head and then reaches up to run his hands through his hair. Dean is mesmerized, as always, by the play of muscles under his little brother’s skin as his torso lengthens to allow the movement. God but he really is gorgeous.

“I’m good, I guess. I just needed to… you know. I should probably go back to my room though.”

“Stay,” Dean implores, planting one more soft kiss to the patch of skin between Sam’s hip and groin before he lifts up and slides up the bed. Sam scoots over to make room but he looks nervous.

“But what if she finds us like this?”

It’s almost enough to make Dean laugh. Back then, the night before Sam left and the time they spent around John after he came back, Sam wasn’t that concerned about getting caught. Dean used to think he _wanted_ the dad to know. It’s odd to see him so worried now.

“Look, we’ve always kept this private. Even if people knew, and I’m pretty sure, like you said, some have, it’s always been just ours. Nothing has to change now.”

Dean reaches up to turn the lamp off and the room is thrown into complete darkness. He finds Sam’s waist and tugs until Sam’s back slots against his front. Sam’s almost too tall to be little spoon, but Dean knows he prefers it. Especially when he’s feeling down or insecure.

“But, if she sees us like this, Dean-”

“You have nightmares. Or I have nightmares. Whatever. We’ve both been to hell; we’re entitled.”

“We’re naked,” Sam offers flatly and Dean can see his bitchface just as well as if he actually _could_ see it.

“Yeah, well, she’s probably not going to lift up the covers. Now will you shut up and go to sleep?”

Besides, if the last few days are any indication, Dean will be up before her anyway. 

Sam finally relaxes into Dean’s arms and sighs, pulling the hand around his middle up just long enough to kiss Dean’s palm before putting it back around himself. Dean smiles and wiggles down until he can press an answering kiss into Sam’s bare shoulder blade.

“I love you,” comes out on an exhale. Low enough Dean could ignore it if it wants. And he usually does, though he has no doubt Sam knows the sentiment is returned tenfold. But this time he gives in. And he says it loud enough that there’s no way Sam could miss it.

“I love you.”


End file.
